Hidden in Imladris
by Idealistic Lover
Summary: I began writing this story because I love writing but not very good making original plots! Help an author(?) that's just starting out!READ AND REVIEW - WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET PPL TO READ???
1. Rivendell

Hi! This is my first LotR fic - I decided to write it to practice my writing as I cannot come up with original plots - so I decided to construct a smaller one around Tolkien's. Please do not be put off by the length of it! Reviews will help me improve, and perhaps after a while, I will be able to attempt my own original story.but let us not look too far ahead. Enjoy!  
  
Hidden in Imladris  
  
A light loomed ahead, past the shiny black silhouettes of the trees. The light kindled the rain into a million streaks of falling stars. The rider urged his white mare along the muddy, bracken-strewn path. Lifting one trespassing branch to the side, murmuring a soft command to the horse; it quickened to a canter. He peered curiously at the first sign of civilisation he had seen in months.  
  
Rain blinded the vision, encasing Rivendell in sheets of raging water. Spluttering, the arrival dismounted led the horse as close to the shelter of the house as possible, then ran up to the open porch. A hooded elf appeared, and explained he was the hostler. Rubbing down the white mare and whispering, almost singing, soothing sounds, he led it to where the stranger could only presume was the stables.  
  
Waiting on the porch, the rider shrugged underneath his cloak, trying to shift some of the dampness off his shoulders. The ornate door opened. Another elf took his hand and pulled him in, laughing.  
  
"Galad nin, (light for me - sorry) I didn't realise I would arrive his late; or that it would rain for that matter!"  
  
The elf grinned, "Don't apologise! Úranlye hi dú - esteo, pedo, lasto, lino - ú eglo ilye mornië, an hi dú nalye mí marello Elrond. (Wander no more this night - rest, speak, listen, sing - but leave your shadows, for this night you are in the house of Elrond) " Pointing down one corridor, he laughed and danced away.  
  
***  
  
"Man dú, (Good night) Eludir!" Legolas bade his friend goodnight, and left the brilliantly lit hall, closing the door behind him, the laughter and dancing with it. He slumped against the wall, breathing in the silence for a while.  
  
His elven ears caught something. Now he was alert. Along the corridor he heard, the clumping of booted feet. Curious, and slightly cautious, he ran light-footed towards the sound.  
  
Seeing a cloaked figure, he stopped, mid-stride. The stranger had a lithe seeming figure and was slightly smaller than he. But from what he could see through the wet folds of clothing, he met Legolas with a defiance that sounded in his stature. Confidence showing in the way that he held his shoulders.  
  
"Daro! (Halt!) What man walks the halls of Rivendell, with his face hidden in shadow?" Legolas voiced the challenge.  
  
"I shall do as I please Eldar (elf), why should it concern you?" A rich voice answered. That answer grated at Legolas, however Legolas smiled inwardly as the youth disguised his young voice with false gruffness. But even excepting that, there was something about him that Legolas could not quite discern.  
  
"It is the rule for all strange men who enter Rivendell." Legolas persisted, becoming more and more irritated by the youth's manner.  
  
He seemed to chuckle, and then he spoke. "Well then, these rules do not apply to me!"  
  
That retort sparked the rage within the elf. "To the duelling yards, then."  
  
Without a reply, the youth followed him to the yards. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the mud was slippery. Checking that the young man was ready, he challenged him, "Then draw sword, mortal, so I may teach you some manners! Has man so little years now that he has not the time to learn politeness?"  
  
"So it will be. Your ignorance, I could tolerate. But careless insults I will no longer stand!" They drew simultaneously, into on guard position. The man lunged. Legolas parried, surprised at his miscalculation of the youth's speed and agility. He noted however, that there was less strength holding the sword than he would have imagined, a weakness, in some ways.  
  
The man began an overhead blow which Legolas countered and in the same movement aimed the blade towards his opponent's side. But he was parried with a cleverly small movement. However Legolas had discovered something more - the youth was tired, and although he was well conserving his energy with neat, light attacks, he already was beginning to slow.  
  
Suddenly Legolas saw an opening. He feinted to draw the youth's sword and attention even further astray. Then, quickly, he lunged forward. But as the youth stepped back, he faltered, stumbling and slipping in the mud, and fell. Legolas's blow, that had been directed to his opponent's side, instead caught him on the right shoulder and tore up, slashing his hood. And as he fell, hood revealing the face, Legolas realised his mistake. Thudding to the ground, his defeated opponent still looked at him, as if still able to kill him then and there.  
  
Indignation reddened her cheeks, but her chin was thrust stubbornly forward. Then Legolas saw his mistake was doubled, as he looked into her brown eyes. Flecks of green elven light shone within them, like blades of new green grass on a summer's day, but no warmth radiated from them now, as she looked upon him sternly. Those eyes pierced his very heart, pinning it like an arrow to a tree. A grey hue wreathed through them like mist, and in it seemed to be wisdom of many days - far more than the twenty-five or so years that she bore. Upon her brow a simple golden circlet bound a red jewel. With her hood fallen, he could now see her hair, that cascaded in curling waves to her shoulder blades. It seemed like the Sun shone with gold caress on her hair. Even her quickened breathing seemed to flow.  
  
Legolas beheld her with shame, but overall, awe. Rushing to her side he said earnestly, "Vana híril, galad nin! (Fair lady, sorry!) With your face hidden, I didn't realise." He offered a helping arm.  
  
She raised a dark eyebrow clearly annoyed, "Or was it because I was your match in a duel?" Shaking his proffered arm away, she got up herself. Her voice was like a perilous song, crescendoing to meet her anger.  
  
"Well you did nothing to stop my challenge!" Legolas argued, "And you could have used some manners!"  
  
"I didn't like your arrogant manner, and the fact you assumed I was a man. You should keep you prejudice to yourself!"  
  
"I normally have no prejudice, but your lack of manners grated at me! In the house of your host you shouldn't have enflamed the situation. At least you could have refused my challenge!" Legolas stopped, realising he may have gone too far. They were shouting by now.  
  
"At least?! And lost my honour? Do you think I am beneath honour?" She paused, then spoke gravely. "You deny any prejudice, but I wonder how deep it does go?" Her eyes flashed, and she seemed to swell with hidden power that could not be accounted for with anger. But it was pushed back down by some will inside her, she seemed to shrink down from the towering elven sorceress she had become. Laughing insultingly, she shrugged, "Besides, I need the practice."  
  
Legolas struggled for politeness. He regained it for the while and flourished a bow. "Mae govannen híril, man nalye? (Well met lady, who are you?)" He quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"Nin esse na Elauriel Valorlindë mí lambar Eldareva ú im Kathryn Taurrandiriel i peredhil (My name is Elauriel Valorlindë in the elvish tongue but I am Kathryn daughter of Taurrandir the half-elf)." She curtsied gracefully despite her breeches. "Ar nalye? (And you?)"  
  
"Im Legolas Thranduilion. (I am Legolas son of Thranduil)" He smiled, leaning forward to take her hand. "Esto mãn, vana hírin! Namárië. (Rest well, fair lady! Farewell!)" He kissed it, and let the hand slip out of his grasp as he slowly walked away, still looking into her eyes.  
  
Still in a thunderous mood, Kathryn flew out of the yards back inside, a whirlwind of anger and frustration. But she slowed, as the beauty of this wondrous place began to seep into her mind. The laughter and singing trickled in like a golden stream, calming her. Fair these folk were, like divine angels of light, but earthly in laughter and dancing. Nothing from her isolated living in the ruins of Angmar could amount to a flower in this place. Sighing with longing, her mother had often told her of the elven dwellings she had left for her husband. And now she could see why her mother had pined so. Only now did she understand how lonely she had been. Joy filled the gaps loneliness had left her with: she was content. Smiling, she saw indeed that the house of Elrond was 'a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep, or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all'. Her mother, Elnaldiriel had once laughed and told Kathryn of a 'silly hobbit' that had spoken those words once; but Kathryn realised that even those simple words summed up Rivendell almost entirely, even though what a 'hobbit' was, she had no idea.  
  
Reaching her room, she thought of nothing but sleep. There, she undressed, wincing at the gash in her arm, and slid into bed. 


	2. Estel

***  
  
Kathryn opened her eyes. All she saw was a high white ceiling, framed with elaborately carved and gilded wood. She lay there in a daze, watching the light play across her vision, trying to remember where she was.  
  
"Where shall I find Elrond, I wonder." She mused aloud.  
  
"How about seeking old friends first?" A soft but rough voice asked quietly. Her first instinct was to draw her blanket up about her, but then she realised who it was.  
  
"Estel?" She asked, anticipation forcing her to whisper.  
  
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;" She could feel his breathe on her cheek.  
  
Recognising the verse, she chanted with him, "The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not touched by the frost." He chuckled. "Estel!" She slid out of bed. Her friend lifted her up in a tight hug and spun her round. Estel still had a rugged look to him, and he smelt of outdoors, acquired from all his wandering. Of course the verses applied to him, the same hobbit that had spoken with awe of Rivendell had composed the lines for him. His long, straggling brown hair had been quickly combed. Ten years had changed him, but this meeting lifted the cares and burdens from them for now. He wore more wisdom upon his brow; he seemed to have more confidence in his abilities than before. Once again Kathryn found the sadness of lost Númenor in his keen grey eyes. And now she realised how much she had missed his frequent visits to her home in Angmar. "How did you know I was here?"  
  
"Your arrival has not gone unnoticed! Let's just say an enraged Prince of Mirkwood told me." He smiled.  
  
"How does a prince know of me?" Kathryn asked, puzzled.  
  
"I thought you were on very close terms with him. I heard you challenged him to a fight yester eve."  
  
"Legolas is a prince? He challenged me the pompous elf!"  
  
Estel was grinning now, obviously amused by the event of last night. "What did he say when he lost?"  
  
Kathryn sighed, casting her eyes downwards; "I lost if you must know." But then she met his gaze again. "I was weary. His anger was caused by the challenge I put upon his swordsmanship. I know I could have won. I know I could have fought better!"  
  
"You lost?" Estel's eyes flitted to the wound in her shoulder. "What happened? Are you hurt badly?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he sat her down on the bed, examining the gash. The burning died down from his cooling touch to small flickers of pain. "You should have had this dressed you know. He almost sheared a muscle. Nonetheless, it would be best if you leave swords alone for a while, I would not risk harming yourself further, though you seem to be able to do it all be yourself anyway."  
  
Kathryn's eyes flashed at the remark but when she looked up she saw a teasing sparkle in his eyes. "All right," She sighed again, "I will do as you ask. Now wait here while I get dressed. Turn around." Estel rolled his eyes and turned his back to her.  
  
"Legolas's father, Thranduil, what lands does he rule?" She asked, pulling off her slip.  
  
"Mirkwood. East of the Misty Mountains, beyond the East banks of the Great River. His elves are sometimes the only light in the darkness of those trees. Many dark things dwell there. Only recently an evil in the South of it has been banished. His residence was Dol Guldûr, blackness still abides there."  
  
"Have you been there?" She pulled a clean slip on.  
  
"I have wandered through many lands near and far, and yes, Mirkwood has been one of them. Some of the paths there are perilous. Your father, Taurrandir, took me there the first time I think. But let us speak of happier things."  
  
Kathryn paused, looking through one of the open arches in her high room, imagining faraway lands. "I wish I could journey to the places you have been. Even the perilous, dark roads."  
  
Estel straightened, alert, and turned to face her, ignoring the fact she was only half dressed. "Do you?" He stepped towards her, a shadow of pain over his eyes. "Do you?" he repeated, stepping even closer. "Could you cope with the horrors I have seen, that threaten to consume me with terror, or worse, madness? Could you survive the darkest of paths in Mordor, without perishing from blackest despair? Sometimes it's almost unbearable. And worse, there are far worse things than dying. I have nightmares of the black places, of the enemies I have had to behold. Those places you speak wondrously of." He bowed his head, and sat down.  
  
"But Estel, do you not consider the wonders you do behold, the magic you encounter, the unveiled beauty?" She asked earnestly, sitting beside him.  
  
"The only beauty I need is right here, in you, in Rivendell. Here my heart abides when I wander far."  
  
"But is the price not worth the freedom you have?"  
  
Head buried in hands, he whispered, "I do not know. When I get home I always ask myself 'Why do I leave this place of peace?' All I need is here - adventure, pain - they are nothing in this tranquillity. But I always leave; something always calls me back into the wilderness. When I look at you, I wonder what could tear me away from my friends and family. It is not the call of adventure often told of in stories. Nay, anyone called as such returns within a month of rain and mud. Nay, what makes me leave is necessity, if I don't go who else will protect this peace and happiness? Someone else will have to suffer when it should have been me." He stopped as if just realising her presence. "Ironic isn't it? I have to leave this place in order to keep it."  
  
She put an arm around him, "I'm sorry, Estel, but your words do not change my resolve. I believe the price is right. Horrors balancing the wonders. Long have I yearned to journey from my home in the ruins of Angmar. Nothing holds me back now. My parents are dead." She said bitterly. "I began my journey already by travelling to Rivendell, where all roads begin - even yours."  
  
Estel cried out, grasping her shoulders. "No! Dear Kathryn, no! I fight for you to live! Do not journey to places where I cannot protect you!" The first tear in years rolled own his cheek. "Please!"  
  
"It is my decision, Estel. Would you take away my right to make choices just to protect me?"  
  
"If it stops you getting killed."  
  
Her chin up in defiance, she spoke, "I may not have the blood of Númenor flowing through my veins, but I can survive on my own as you do."  
  
"I have suffered so you would not suffer." His steel grey eyes cut at her. But she had decided.  
  
"Would you shield me, keep me blind from the whole world like a child, Estel? What would happen if evil came to this place and I wasn't prepared?" Estel's grip on her shoulder tightened.  
  
"I will not let you do this." He said in a tight voice.  
  
Closing her eyes, bracing herself, she slowed her breathing. "I understand what you are saying. But listen to me! It is not your decision."  
  
Estel stood up and looked down into her eyes, his face in endless agony. Then he turned and left the room, saying no further word.  
  
Kathryn put her head in her hands and wept. 


	3. Heritage

The wailing continued throughout the morning, and into the afternoon. Almost parallel to Kathryn's grief, rain fell like a beaded curtain from outside the marble-white arches of her room. Elrond was troubled as he walked along the sobbing corridors. He opened the door and saw her hunched on the floor, crying like her soul poured from her eyes. Elrond placed a hand on her shaking shoulders.  
  
"He suffers as much as you do." He said softly.  
  
"It isn't your decision, it isn't your decision!" She wailed hysterically. Elrond held her head to his chest, smoothing her hair.  
  
"He loves you very much. I felt the same letting Arwen leave the first time."  
  
"I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to." The crying stopped, but her breathing was still shallow and in jerks.  
  
"He has given a lot to keep you safe. Now he must learn to let you go, to go and face the dangers yourself." Somehow Elrond's firm, reasonable voice was calming.  
  
"Elrond?"  
  
"Yes it is I."  
  
"Are you my uncle?"  
  
A brief smile passed his lips, "Yes. Your mother, Elnaldiriel, was my wife, Celebrian's sister."  
  
"She is dead, my mother." She looked up at him, her eyes flooded with tears. "A foretelling killed her - killed her! 'Seek for the Sword That Was Broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be councils taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.'  
  
"Those words killed her! And what use are they? Mere words!"  
  
Elrond looked at her sternly, his tone lecturing, "You under-estimate the power of words." Wisdom deeply filled his stormy-grey eyes.  
  
Still wandering aimlessly in sorrow, she whispered, "Maybe she could have held on if my father had not perished fighting the Witch King of Angmar."  
  
Now his eyes were sympathetic, compassion whirling inside them, "Armelion Taurrandir was a good friend to me, the closest I had to another brother. His valiant fight that diminished the Prince saved Rivendell from his armies. The blood of Númenor ran true in him." Elrond stopped, and there was an awkward silence as if that last sentence had come unbidden. He sighed wistfully.  
  
"Númenor? Why say you that? My father was just a Ranger."  
  
Elrond laughed. "Just a Ranger? Kathryn, 'Just a Ranger' is a contradiction in itself! Rangers are Dúnedain - Men of the West - descendants of the Lords from lost Númenor and from Gondor." He stopped chuckling and his acute eyebrows furrowed inwards. Gravely he spoke. "I think the time is right for you to realise all of your lineage." He got up, walked to the balcony and placed his hands on the ornate rails, looking out to the West. "Your father, Armelion was the second son of Arador, the fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain."  
  
"Who was the first son?"  
  
"Arathorn the second. Now Arador was in direct descent from Isildur, son of Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor. The line of Númenor had been dwindling, but for once they were gifted with two sons, who in turn had an heir each. You are Armelion's heir." He turned back to face her. "And one of the two rightful heirs to the throne of Gondor."  
  
Kathryn felt detached, unthinking, distant by disbelief. But at the same time curiosity was sparked within her, setting her eyes aflame. "Who is Arathorn's heir?"  
  
"His name is Aragorn." Elrond turned away again, and Kathryn sensed there was something he was keeping back from her, but decided not to pursue the matter today.  
  
Instead she asked, "Does he not take precedence to claiming the throne?"  
  
"No one knows. Besides, it is not yet the time for the claim to be made. A sign will be give, perhaps when the Doom that your mother spoke of is near at hand." He turned around and grasped her shoulder. "I hope you understand, I could not tell you sooner because of the Dark Lord. Even now he seeks for the Heir of Isildur, he fears much the return of Númenor or at least, the union of Arnor and Gondor renewed. Be careful. Namárië an si, Aredylen Dúnien." He smiled and left the room.  
  
Kathryn stared at the closed door. "Names!" she muttered. "As if I needed anymore names!" Aredylen meant something like 'Noble-hidden-heart' or 'Hidden-noble' in Sindarin. She seemed to remember someone saying it before, but deep in the depths of her childhood. It was appropriate, though. And Dúnien was a variation of Dúnadan, but meant Maiden of the West.  
  
In the middle of her musings, realisation hit her. An heir to a kingdom, by the Valar! Her first instinct was to tell Estel, but then she remembered the void between them. Another tear ran down her cheek. 


	4. Magical Night

Moonlight flowed into the room, until it all glowed in a soft white. Twilight called to her from the deep blue outside. Placing an almost caressing hand on one of the marble-white walls, she looked out into the night. It was like a dream. A gentle wind kissed her face as it wreathed in and out of the four archways that led out onto a balcony. The whole night seemed to be bathed in a silvery white - it gilded branches and lined ivory leaves. The wind led her out to the balcony and she looked down to the ground below from her lofty room. Twilight called to her from the puddles of light and shadow below. She pulled herself up onto a tree's branch that grew over the balcony, and climbed down. The grass was lush and springy under her bare feet. Then she heard the hushing, crooning whisper of a river.  
  
It was Ithilain, the tributary of Bruinen that flowed through Rivendell. The full moon shimmered on wet pebbles, and embroidered the ripples of the river in silver. It was a beautiful night, the stars winking through the forest's dark canopy. Occasional shafts of moonlight flowed into pools on the forest floor, lighting it with heavenly light. Dew sparkled like stars. Magical this night seemed.  
  
Through the trees, she could see a stone bridge up river. Two figures stood in the centre of it, facing each other. Compelled, she crept closer, her elven senses aiding her. A lady robed in glittering white stood with a man in dark clothes. Details were indiscernible.  
  
"I chose. a mortal life." The female's voice was like a flowing song. The woman enclosed something in the man's hand; Kathryn saw a quick glimmer of silver.  
  
"You cannot commit this." A soft but rough voice urged sincerely, the man pressed the gift to the woman's bosom.  
  
"It is mine to give to whom I will." She paused and looked up into his face, caressing his hands. "Like my heart." After a moment's silence, they leaned forward and kissed softly, cherishing their complete yet forbidden love. Kathryn turned away, her back thudding against a tree trunk, closing her eyes tightly, not sure if it was to stop tears. She knew those lovers, they were her dearest friends - Estel and Arwen. Deep and forever their love must go, if Arwen was willing to make a sacrifice of her immortality. Confusion flitted through Kathryn; she could not understand how Arwen could bear to do that.  
  
She turned back again. Estel had gone now, leaving Arwen leaning forward over the bridge, watching the flowing waters of the river, the moon wreathed in the currents. Kathryn walked along up to the bridge. Arwen was still entranced, dreams in her eyes. She leaned on the rail beside Arwen. The elf stirred.  
  
"Kathryn!" She embraced her cousin. Kathryn returned the embrace fully. "Gwennin in enninath, I have missed you."  
  
"Too many leaf-falls I have seen since we last parted." She smiled a wane smile. "But this time we meet in your beautiful home, and now I feel ashamed of the ruins I lived in."  
  
"Do not be, they are as precious as Rivendell, in their own way. But here is not my home, I have long dwelt under the golden canopy of Lothlórien with my grandmother as you well know." She sighed and turned back to the river, seeming to remember a meeting amidst the golden trees. Kathryn also turned and watched the silvery moon waver in its shaky reflection, tendrils of silver escaping and slithering along the river currents.  
  
"Something troubles your heart." Her voice a concerned whisper. "It lingers like a dark, heavy cloud, with no wind to send it away."  
  
"I know not of what you speak, Arwen, I am as merry as a springtime lamb!" The lie sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Oh by the Valar! I'll be cursed if I don't tell you. Do you know who I really am, Arwen?"  
  
Arwen smiled with sad knowledge. "So my father decided it was time indeed. Truth be told you are no longer a girl, and with time you will become the great woman that you are foretold to be. A great burden you may take up. At least you have time for reflection. If the time comes and you find the place for you is not upon a throne, mayhap this other heir will take the place instead and you both will be content. Alas it seems to me many years before any hope of such time will come." Her sorrow-filled eyes gazed into Kathryn's, like a ladle dipping into a deep bowl of water. "But that is not the darkness. Kathryn?"  
  
Kathryn relented and told Arwen about Estel.  
  
Afterwards, Arwen frowned, "It is hard for him, I see that. Maybe when he learns of your lineage he will understand better. I see this is indeed a dark cloud, truly it must rain heavily in the valley of your heart." Grasping Kathryn's hands, she said, "A si úcarono amanna Estel." (Yet do not give up Estel hope)  
  
"My thanks. You seem to be far from giving up Estel."  
  
A blush rouged Arwen's moon-illuminated face. "Henion le?"  
  
"Yes I saw you this night, but do not be troubled, I will not tell anyone." She spoke with such passion that Arwen accepted her promise unquestionably. "But I do not understand."  
  
Arwen smiled, "Understanding will come when you fall in love, dear Kathryn." She laughed, and the river chortled with her. "The only understanding that comes from that beloved emotion, I swear!" Then she frowned. "Kathryn pray tell, you have not found someone yet?"  
  
"Nay, not yet. For years I have loved Estel, but as one to a brother. I may still have a few years of sense yet!"  
  
"So the Prince of Mirkwood has not caught your heart?" Arwen asked slyly.  
  
Kathryn laughed long, "Legolas? That pompous elf? Ha! A good jest that is!" But like a cloud another frown passed her face. "The choice that is bestowed upon us half elves is hard, and one that I would not decide upon lightly. The gift of elves, or the doom of men." Then a thought sparked in her mind. "Does Elrond know of this?"  
  
"My father? I fear that he does, if he does not himself truly know, it may lie within his darkest fears." She sighed. "I do not think he will let go of me easily. No doubt he will set Estel a challenge to prove his worth. But he will be fair in the end, even if it kills him." Then she smiled trying to put happiness back into the night, tired of melancholy reflections and cried, "Come! Let us go to our rooms, and leave the darkness outside." 


	5. Sad Departure

***  
  
It was Midsummer Night, and much feasting, dancing and general merrymaking was going on. Kathryn, however, did not join with them, finding nothing to laugh about. Instead she sat alone in a corner, brooding in dark solitude. Light came to her in a strange form.  
  
"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you, vána hirin?" A musical tenor asked. She looked up. It was Legolas. She was surprised she recognised him, because before she had looked on him as some kind of monster. The first things she noticed about him were his eyes; they were green and sparkled with life and merriment. He had long blonde hair; some of it braided in some foreign elvish style. He was taller than she, lithe yet muscular, his arms toned from archery. Noticing her appraisal, he smiled a charming smile and whisked her into the middle of the dance floor.  
  
"How is your shoulder?" Legolas whispered in her ear.  
  
"Healing, but I'm not allowed to fight for a while."  
  
"Ah - so no challenges tonight, then?" His green eyes twinkled. Kathryn was tired of arguments.  
  
"Yes, it's your lucky day Legolas. What brings you to Rivendell?"  
  
"I came to meet Estel, Elrohir and Elladan, I need council on the defences of Mirkwood. I know I should not of speak of such things tonight but a shadow is rising from the South." He was troubled. "Trees and animals alike whisper of a nameless fear. Darkness is creeping back into the forests of the world. Some event has drawn them out of their foul hiding holes." He almost spat in disgust but somehow still managed to keep the dance's rhythm. "So my father is in need in advice of defence." He looked intently into her eyes and Kathryn became aware of how close he was. Her lips seem to quiver. She turned her face away, looking over his shoulder, to the pillars marking the outside. They danced, not speaking, to the music of harmonious elvish instruments. Suddenly she saw Estel, watching her in the shadows, frowning.  
  
When the music ended, Kathryn turned to go, but Legolas grasped her wrist. "Stay and dance!" He beseeched her.  
  
Laughing, Kathryn declined, "Law, Legolas (No Legolas)! You're such a charmer, but I'm sure you will have another lady up your sleeve! Have fun!" Legolas grinned and turned to a fawning elven maiden with brown ringlets and spun her, giggling, onto the dance floor.  
  
Kathryn walked quickly over to where Estel had been. Only shadows remained. Stepping out beyond the columns, to outside, her eyes roved the darkness. Hitching up her red dress, she walked further out. Someone slouched against the dark bark of a tree, singing softly to himself.  
  
"Ai tirin nin vinya mellon, astaldo, (Alas I watch over my young friend, bravely) Ú si rya randir nin ostello, (But now she wanders from my protection) A im ywalmesse." (And I am in torment)  
  
Sighing, he pulled his hood further over his face and sang on the lament.  
  
"Ar si dolen-essë úfanin, (And now a hidden name has been unveiled) Nelden nin umbar a hilarma, (I know my destiny and heritage) Ú dénien an nin egla mellon." (But lament for my forsaken friend)  
  
Kathryn left him and softly crept back inside. She had decided. She could not stay in this place anymore.  
  
It was barely dawn, first light illuminated the lingering mist with a cold light. Everything was grey, and Kathryn looked out onto the dreamland, not believing. She packed silently and dressed quietly in dark green. She pulled the laces of her corset tight, every jerk trying to bring her to the realisation that she was leaving, to wander the lonely roads of darkness and light. Everything was grey. Now she polished her sword, rounding the dull grey to a sharp sheen. With a faint smile she ran her fingers along its blade, feeling the engraved elven characters that flowed along its slight curve to the tip, etched also into her mind:  
  
"O imiûl echan gildin, I gelenas o nórui yrn, Im Lassiûl."  
  
(From amidst the embers, Awakens a spark, The leaf of burning trees. Emberleaf am I.)  
  
Her hand encircled the familiar grip of the hilt that was carved to the likeness of vines. In the centre a ruby was set, surrounded by a ring of emeralds. It had been a gift from her father, before he rode off to his last battle. With that gift came the words, "You have earned it, my daughter. Remember always, a blade must be hard enough to sharply cut, but soft enough not to break. Do not become too hard, dear Kathryn, do not become too hard." She did not see him again.  
  
Knocking on the door hoisted her out of her memories. "May I come in?" Elrond's voice sounded through the door. Startled Kathryn got up and let him in. "So you plan to go." Elrond said sadly, searching her eyes. "I will not hold you back. And Estel will not find out until tomorrow's morn. Andelu i ven (the road is dangerous). Rivendell will miss you, even though your stay was short. I will miss you."  
  
Kathryn hugged him. "I will miss you." She drew back, and sheathed her sword in a nondescript leather scabbard.  
  
"Enninath pella le aen. Nathlye bell dúnien ir tollye ad le (Long years are ahead of you. You will be a strong woman when you return)." Elrond gave her an encouraging smile, then spoke in archaic Quenya, "Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya (May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky)." With that, he left.  
  
Kathryn tied up her saddlebags and slung them over her shoulders, and slid her sword to hang by her hip with her dagger. Snatching her cloak, she left her room, before morning began. She did not return for twenty years. 


	6. Many Years Later

***  
  
Rivendell saw three more departures the next day. Estel, upon discovering Kathryn missing, also left but quietly, with only a few soft words to Arwen, returning to the wilderness. Legolas son of Thranduil, having received council he deemed enough to be of great help to his father, left for Mirkwood. He was intending to stay another month, but suffered a change of heart, after receiving news of a renewed attack upon the southern borders of his land. But he had seemed subdued before the news, after a quick but earnest talk with Estel. Soon Arwen left too, to see her grandmother, Galadriel, and once again resided in the golden woods of the mystical Lothlórien.  
  
***  
  
Slouched in her saddle, bending to the cowing gusts of wind and whippings of rain, Kathryn persisted on. Under the looming dark clouds that filled the sky, a cluster of lights marked the town of Bree. It was nestled in a semicircle around a hill, and not that far away. Her chilled, water- drenched body had gone past the stage of shivering. With numb fingers she pulled her hood further down across her face.  
  
By the time she reached the East Gate, the dismal clouds had been replaced by a near pitch black. The gates had shut; Kathryn swore a collection of particularly foul oaths she had attained from her long travels. With the picture of camping outside in this weather in her mind, she trudged up to the gate with little hope. Loudly she knocked, pounding the tall wooden structure with as much strength as she could muster after her wearisome journey.  
  
Someone seemed to stir in a lodge beyond the gate, and Kathryn heard the squelch of boots in mud come towards her. A shutter in the gate opened and two suspicious eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows blinked through.  
  
"What do you want, and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.  
  
Kathryn laughed with relief, "Well good sir, consider this, what would you be wanting in a town when it's freezing and pouring rain in the wilderness?"  
  
"I'm not here to play guessing games, stranger." He barked.  
  
She sighed resignedly, not wanting to spend a moment longer outside, "Ai! I would like to stay in the inn here; I could go further tonight but am weary to the bone and have someone to meet here. If I told you all the places I've come from we'd be here 'til dawn. Does that answer you?"  
  
"A stranger, with a rather strange accent, dresses like a Ranger." Kathryn's sharp ears caught the gatekeeper saying softly to himself. He stared at her darkly for a moment, then slowly opened the gate and let her lead her horse through. "There's queer folk been about, though you are one of the less strange, you seem a little more friendly than most. I'll take you as good enough." He went on as she halted a moment at the door. "What might your name and business be, might I ask?"  
  
"My name I shall keep, I wish just to find a warm bed and supper. May I be permitted to find them?"  
  
"It's my business to ask questions after nightfall. Now through with you! If you want an inn The Pony will suffice, but it's unusually full this eve."  
  
"My thanks." She smiled as warmly as she could in her frozen body, wondering why he was so suspicious. She hunched her shoulders trying to keep the unease from creeping down her spine. Kathryn rode up a gentle slope, passing tall houses whose second stories leaned over the street. A large signboard of a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs marked the inn of The Prancing Pony. It looked homely enough from the outside. Lights peeked out from gaps in heavy curtains, and the raucous noise of many cheerful voices singing a bawdy song echoed out onto the street. Kathryn smiled and left her horse in the yard under the archway, leaping up the steps to the doorway. There she met a short fat man with a bald head and a red face, puffing from dashing zigzags between rooms. He wore a white apron, only slightly dirty from wiping some table or something of the sort.  
  
"Greetings!" He shouted absentmindedly over his shoulder as he bustled back into the common room, "Just a minute, if you please!" then he was lost in the coarse laughter and smoke. Punctual to his words, he did return, wiping his hands on his apron. Then, as he got a chance to look at her appearance, he failed to mask a suspicious scowl. Kathryn was surprised - the innkeeper looked good-natured enough.  
  
"Good evening." He said reluctantly. Kathryn threw back her weather stained hood, and her hair tumbled out with it in golden brown locks. The innkeeper looked surprised and slightly abashed.  
  
"My apologies, good mistress, for a minute I thought you were." He was interrupted by a shout from the common room. "Half a minute!" He yelled back. "Yes, what was I saying.? Anyway, welcome to the Prancing Pony, Barliman Butterbur at your service! What may you be wanting?"  
  
"A single room, not too big but cosy and stabling for my horse if you please." She smiled.  
  
"Yes of course! There now! Now I remember: what I was saying was from your garb a moment ago, I half mistook you for one of those Ranger, those strange wandering folks. Well mistress, I beg your pardon fully!" He gave her a dimpled grin.  
  
"Alas, dear Barliman, I perhaps may still be regarded as what you Breefolk call Rangers. But tonight the only home I know is this one and the only drink I know is beer! I'll go to the common room." She laughed merrily in an elvish fashion, so foreign that Barliman cocked his head, obviously trying to catch a thought from one of the ones streaming in through one ear and out the other. Then she remembered secrecy would be best and pulled her hood once again over her head, then disappeared, like Butterbur, into the smoky, laughter-filled room.  
  
With her hood once again shadowing her face, many of the Breefolk tried to ignore her, and they would shrug uneasily when she walked by. Finding a solitary corner half in the shadows, she leaned back in a chair and called for a beer. Soon however, a couple of plucky hobbits and a few curious men had gathered around her, eager for news from the world. Every now and then, when they thought she wasn't watching them, they tried to peer into the depths of her hood, but she always kept it in check. After satiating their interest for news, she was then asked to tell a story.  
  
"Well let's see, a tale you want? Hmm." She stretched her legs, thinking. "What kind of tale? A merry one perhaps."  
  
"Tell us about elves!" One particularly adventurous shouted out. Kathryn laughed, "Well yes, perhaps, little master!" She roved her memory. "I will sing one of their songs, of Gil-galad, an elven King, and try to render it in the Common Tongue, nevertheless it will be poor in comparison to the elvish tongue in which they sing. So be kind!  
  
"Gil-galad was an Elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free Between the Mountains and the Sea.  
  
"His sword was long, his lance was keen, His shining helm afar was seen; The countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield.  
  
"But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say; For into darkness fell his star  
  
"In." Kathryn stopped, and cries of protest arose. "Nay, 'tis a dark tale and I forgot 'twas so. My apologies." They clamoured for another tale, and Kathryn was about to oblige them, when three small newcomers entered the room. They looked around, frightened by the tall shapes towering over them, then chose a table to the side of the room, uncomfortable from the interest in which they were received with. Kathryn's crowd left her with a chorus of welcome for the new arrivals. Left to herself again, she settled back into a more comfortable position, watching. 


	7. Fleetfoot

The light from the blazing fireplace licked the walls, dancing with shadows. The innkeeper was talking to a few dwarves and a couple of strange looking men at that log-fire. Some of the men of Bree and most of the collection of local hobbits had stopped their chattering to watch the three hobbits that had just entered. Kathryn looked on curiously.  
  
They introduced themselves to the quickly accumulating crowd as Master Underhill, Pippin Took and Sam Gamgee, and in turn were given the names of most of the people in the room. Underhill seemed the leader in their strange, and wet, party, but also the least talkative. After he had told the hobbits he was writing a book but did not proceed in start writing in right at that moment, he was relatively left alone, to the little place at the side of the room. The other two, Sam and Pippin were chatting gaily about events at their home; a place called the Shire. Kathryn had spent some of the summer last year guarding that place with a few Rangers, and knew that Bree seldom got travellers or news from there, now the Old Road between them was more dangerous.  
  
Suddenly Underhill seemed to notice her attention, and at the same time they both realised that she was not the only one watching him so, a strange weather-beaten man was sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner, also listening intently to the talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long stemmed pipe. He was clad much like her - his high boots of leather were also worn and caked in mud, he was also swathed in dark- green weather stained cloth - two eyes gleamed from a shadowed face.  
  
When the hobbit finally got the innkeeper's attention, he whispered something to him furtively but carefully.  
  
"Them?" said Barliman, who could not be as quiet to avoid Kathryn's sharp ears, but doing his best by not turning his head to face them. "I don't rightly know. They both seem to be one of the wandering folk - Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: but she is always ready with a story to please us locals. They both disappear for months, or a year, and then pop up again. He was in and out pretty often last Spring, and I last saw her last Summer. What their real names are I've never heard: but he's known around here as Strider, and she as Fleetfoot. He goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; and she lightly and merrily at the same pace; but neither tells nobody what cause they have to hurry. But here's no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him." At that moment Mr Butterbur was called away by a demand for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained to both Kathryn and Mr Underhill.  
  
Strider seemed to also have heard, or at least, guessed all that had been said. By now Kathryn was suspecting that there was something out of the ordinary about Mr Underhill. Alert again, Kathryn saw Strider making a gesture to invite the hobbit over, Kathryn did not want to trust him with Underhill and so called merrily to him, a fairer and more appealing gesture than that of a wave of a hand.  
  
"Hello, Mr Underhill, would you care a while to sit with me? Two is company as they say in Bree." She smiled.  
  
The hobbit smiled faintly back, still a little suspicious, "I suppose but just a few moments." Then she realised her hood was still over her face. She threw it back. Almost immediately after she had done so, the hobbit seemed to relax, maybe it was the elven blood in her.  
  
"I hear I have been introduced to you as the Ranger, Fleetfoot. Did you expect somewhat different to who you see before you?"  
  
The hobbit shuffled uneasily, "If truth be told, yes, I expected someone a little more.ill-favoured in appearance." They both laughed a little, easing the tension. Kathryn pulled her hood back up and leaned back again.  
  
Strider came into view, walking over to their table. "If I may speak with you, 'Fleetfoot'?" He asked with an angry edge to his voice.  
  
Nodding Kathryn stood up, then turned to the hobbit and whispered quickly, "Now, Master Underhill, if I were you I should be careful, and keep an eye on your friends. Drink, fire, and chance-meetings are pleasant enough, but this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about." She glanced meaningfully at Strider. The hobbit nodded hastily, blue eyes wide with fear, then hunched over his half-pint.  
  
Kathryn sat over at the table Strider had been previously. "So what is it?" She resumed her gruff voice.  
  
"Listen, kinsman, I don't know your business here, but this matter I have to deal with is important, stay away from the hobbit." His gleaming eyes pierced her. They seemed familiar.  
  
"I will do as I like, Ranger. And if it means protecting the hobbit from the likes of you, then so be it!"  
  
Strider snarled, "You do not understand! This is of the uttermost importance - it is imperative that I speak with him!" Kathryn looked at him doubtfully. He seemed to search for something to dissuade her. Then he said quietly, the words themselves working the fear. "The Nine are following him."  
  
She gasped. "The Nine? I knew they were here but why would.?" Strider's attention had wandered from the conversation, and Kathryn followed his eyes until they were both staring at a certain Pippin Took. Due to a successful tale about a fat Mayor of the Michel Delving - and maybe also some drink - he had begun to tell a story about a hobbit called Bilbo's farewell party. "I can hardly see what you are so interested about. It is merely a harmless story." She murmured. But Mr Underhill was also looking alarmed, and annoyed. He was fidgeting, agitated, in his seat, seemingly trying to think of something to stop the tale. Kathryn's curiosity was further aroused.  
  
"He better do something, quick!" Strider said, quietly. The hobbit jumped up and stood on a table, beginning to talk. Some of the hobbits looked at him and laughed and clapped, obviously thinking he had finally taken enough drink to talk to the rest of them. The poor Mr Underhill then blushed, looking embarrassed, and began toying with things in his pocket. He spoke a speech to thank them all, which made him even more flustered. Feeling his discomfiture, the audience began to shout, "A song! A song!" Underhill hit inspiration and began to oblige them.  
  
It was a funny old song, about an inn on top of a hill, a cat that played the fiddle, and a cow jumping over the Man in the Moon. The hobbit was actually quite good at it, excepting his nervousness, but when he started it again - after a loud encore from the audience - something alarming happened. It all went well until the last verse, when the hobbit, drunk from his applause, tried to punctuate the line 'the cow jumped over the moon'. He jumped too far and fell, with an outcry of alarm from the crowd, hitting the ground as nothing. He had simply disappeared. There was silence, as everyone stared in amazement at the floor where he should have landed. Some called for Barliman, who hurried in and looked bewildered too. Everyone shunned Mr Underhill's two companions, Pippin and Sam. Three people left; the gatekeeper and a swarthy Bree-lander and squint-eyed southerner slipped out too.  
  
Then Kathryn heard a shuffling noise beside her; she turned quickly, only to see the disappeared Underhill, reappear and not the least bit happy.  
  
"Well?" said Strider. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said!" Obviously this Strider knew more about the hobbit than he had let on.  
  
"I don't know what you mean!" the hobbit said feebly, Kathryn felt sorry for him.  
  
"Oh yes, you do," answered Strider, "but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr Baggins, I should like a quiet word with you."  
  
"What about?" said Mr Baggins, trying to ignore the use of what must have been his real name.  
  
"A matter of importance - to us both. You may hear something to your advantage." answered Strider, glancing at Kathryn, annoyed, then looking the hobbit in the eye. "I'll talk to you later."  
  
"And me also." Kathryn cried, but ruffled the small hobbit's curly brown hair comfortingly. "Here now, let's see if we can't clear up this mess you've fallen into." She allowed herself a chuckle.  
  
Many patrons were grumbling about Mr Baggins's disappearance, in a circle round Barliman. "There must be a mistake." Barliman defended the young hobbit. "He must be in here somewhere."  
  
"Well where is he now?" most of them cried.  
  
"Here!" Kathryn called. "My apologies on the behaviour of young Mr Underhill here. But you should know how hobbits are very good at sneaking away at appropriate moments." Some of the men in the room nodded. "- Not that I would call that appropriate." A few of them chuckled. "- But he obviously was embarrassed about his slight mishap of falling off the table."  
  
"Slight?" laughed one of the less dubious people.  
  
"I don't even think even the most skilled hobbit could disappear like that." Shouted another.  
  
"Really? It's quite easy, when people are watching the place they expect you to be, to hide amongst the crowd. Would you like me to demonstrate?" Kathryn asked.  
  
"No!" Mr Butterbur cried. "No more tumbling over my tables tonight, thank you! I don't need anymore of my crockery broken!" At that point almost everyone laughed and it seemed apparent that Kathryn's excuse was mostly accepted.  
  
When they had all resumed what they had been doing before the whole incident, the hobbit that Kathryn had just spoken for thanked her. "You saved a very serious situation, and I deeply thank you." He said, innocent blue eyes shining with gratitude.  
  
"I sensed there was something worse than just tavern capers. Now. I think that you owe me a name at least, Mr 'Underhill'."  
  
The hobbit smiled, "Alright, I'll meet you in the parlour a little later, where it's safer, hopefully before that man Strider arrives."  
  
"Namárië an si (Farewell for now)." The elvish words spilled from her mouth ahead of her thinking. The hobbit looked startled, but he seemed to understand the words. A curious hobbit indeed, she thought, as he slid off the chair. 


	8. Trust

***  
  
After a hot supper - that Kathryn welcomed as a feast after the scant forages she had lived on over the past months - Kathryn asked Barliman where the parlour was. The fat innkeeper looked at her sceptically, and told her reluctantly, though made sure he followed her.  
  
"I need a word with Mr Underhill myself." He remarked as he trotted along the corridor. "I'll pop in a little later, so mind yourself." Leaving her at the door, he pottered off to attend to some other business, yelling 'Hi! Nob! You woolly-footed slowcoach.' The rest of his words were lost. Shaking her head, Kathryn opened the door.  
  
"Hallo!" said the hobbit that had been introduced as Pippin Took. "Who are you, and what do you want?"  
  
Mr Baggins quickly explained, "She's a friend, she's the one that got me out of that business with the." he coughed and was interrupted.  
  
"She?" Sam Gamgee asked, peering into her hood, "Why, begging your pardon, lady! So you are!" Then he blushed, and mumbled an apology.  
  
Kathryn smiled, "Don't worry Mr Gamgee you're not the first one to make that mistake, nor probably the last. Your friend here promised me a word. And a name." She looked at the mysterious Mr Baggins.  
  
He gulped. "My apologies for my rudeness. You may understand later the cause for it. I am Frodo Baggins; this is Peregrin Took and Sam Gamgee. My other companion is Meriadoc Brandybuck, but he's outside taking a breath of fresh air."  
  
The three hobbits smiled innocently, and she was reminded of children, trustfully looking up to their mother. Her deed in the common room seemed to have won their respect and trust. "You were far too careless earlier." She warned. "Be on your guard. The Enemy has many spies, not only things of horror. He can corrupt the weak minded too. I may have prevented the whole town talking of your little prank-"  
  
"It was sheer accident!" interrupted the blue-eyed hobbit.  
  
"Accident, then, but I wonder." She paused, pondering his words. "But the damage has been done, three people left that room with that 'accident' firm in their minds. The gatekeeper, Harry; Bill Ferny, who is known for his willingness to cause the slight bit of mischief - though this will be more than slight, I fear - and his friend, a southerner, who is likely to be up to as little good."  
  
"What does my accident have to do with them?" the hobbit asked.  
  
"News of you would appeal to certain people." She leaned towards him and spoke slowly. "Watch every shadow. Black horsemen have left the Shire and are roaming the countryside around Bree."  
  
"They have passed through Bree." A soft voice spoke from a chair near the door. Kathryn and the hobbits turned. It was Strider. He continued. "On Monday one came down the Greenway, they say; and another appeared later, coming up the Greenway from the south."  
  
There was silence. At last Frodo spoke to Pippin and Sam, "This is Strider, I also promised him a talk."  
  
Sam grumbled, "I hope you haven't invited anyone else, or else this will turn into an unwanted party, Mr Frodo! We hardly need more attention."  
  
Frodo ignored him, "I ought to have guessed it form the way the gatekeeper greeted us. And the landlord seems to have heard something. Why did he press us to join the company? And why on earth did we behave so foolishly - we should have stayed quiet in here."  
  
"It would have been better," said Strider. "I would have stopped your going into the common room, if I could; but the innkeeper and your friend," he glared again at Kathryn. "would not let me see you, or take a message."  
  
Frodo edged slightly away from both Strider and Kathryn. "Do you think -" he began.  
  
"No." Strider replied, though still looking doubtfully at Kathryn.  
  
Kathryn interrupted him. "I don't think any harm of old Butterbur. Only he does not altogether like Rangers like us especially mysterious vagabonds of his sort." Frodo gave her a puzzled look.  
  
Strider allowed himself a slight smile. "Well, I do have a rather rascally look, do I not?" he said throwing back his hood, with a curl of his lip and a queer gleam in his eye. "I hope we shall get to know one another better. Especially you, master Fleetfoot." He looked at Kathryn.  
  
Kathryn was silent. She could only look desperately at Strider, a man she had not seen in years. Pippin cut through the tense silence. "Hi! Strider or whatever your name is. This here is a lady and you should treat her with some proper respect! She's done far more than you to prove her intent."  
  
"Well now!" Strider laughed. "So who is this mysterious lady?" He got up and walked towards her.  
  
"No, Strider, you don't want to." The words were only a feeble whisper as she shrank away from him into her cloak. Strider pulled back her hood and stopped dead. Kathryn closed her eyes. She felt the hobbits back away, sensing this was not a moment to disturb.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, he was still there, now looking into her eyes. Anger, joy, fear and relief all played across his face like flames. "Kathryn?" He spoke softly, not wanting to destroy the vision in front of him that he had hoped for, for so long.  
  
"Estel." Kathryn rose from her seat and slowly started towards him. But a change overcame him and he pushed her away, sitting down once again in the seat by the door, propping his boots up on the table and biting his long- stemmed pipe.  
  
Frodo stepped forward, wonder filling his eyes. "What do you want, Strider?" he whispered, bravely putting himself between him and Kathryn. Then he spoke stronger, "You said I might hear something to my advantage, I believe. What have you to say?"  
  
"Several things," Estel answered. "But, of course, I have my price."  
  
"What do you mean?" Kathryn asked sharply. Estel frowned at her then turned back to Frodo who was frowning himself, but at Estel. "Don't be alarmed! I mean just this: I will tell you what I know, and give you some good advice - but I shall want a reward."  
  
"And what is that?" said Frodo. Kathryn could not believe Estel was asking for a reward for helping and scowled.  
  
"No more than you can afford," he answered with a slow smile, as if he guessed Kathryn's thoughts. "Just this: you must take me along with you, until I wish to leave you."  
  
"Oh, indeed!" replied Frodo, sounding as surprised as Kathryn was. "I seem to have a worthy companion here already, and one I know I can trust. Even if I wanted you with me, I should not agree to any such thing, until I knew a good deal more about you and your business."  
  
"Excellent!" exclaimed Estel, crossing his legs and sitting back comfortably. "You seem to be coming to your sense again, and that is good. You have been much too careless so far."  
  
"Why do people keep on saying that?" Pippin muttered.  
  
"With that foolish joke in the common room."  
  
Kathryn butted in, "He says it was an accident."  
  
"Accident, prank - it has done the damage. Worse than anything your friends could have said, you really put your foot in it. Or should I say you finger?" That odd remark seemed to startle Frodo even more.  
  
"I.I don't know what you mean." He said shakily. Kathryn raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh yes you do." He stared long at Frodo, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. "Very well! I will tell you about myself and leave the reward up to you. You may be glad to grant it when you have heard me."  
  
"Go on then!" piped up Sam. "What do you know?"  
  
"Too much; too many dark things," He said grimly. "But as for your business." He got up and went to the door, opening it quickly and looking out. Then he sat down again. "I have quick ears," he went on, lowering his voice, "and though I cannot disappear unlike some."  
  
"Oh leave it!" Kathryn snapped.  
  
".I can be avoid being seen if I wish. I was behind the bushes at the side of the road and heard you warn your friends to forget the name Baggins. But I have been looking for you for some time. Listen! News of your 'accident' will be extremely interesting to some ears. After that they will hardly need your real name. It seems to me only too likely that they will hear of it before the night is over. Is that enough? Your enemies will swiftly be on your heels. You can do as you like about my reward: take me as a guide or not. But I may say I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years." He stole a quick look at Kathryn. "I am older than I look. I might prove useful."  
  
"As might I." Kathryn interposed, "I know a lot of this land too."  
  
"You may escape Bree, and be allowed to travel while the Sun is up, but you will not go far. They will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do you wish them to find you?"  
  
"Ai! They are terrible!" Kathryn cried, and remembered pain caught her gaze, guiding it back to painful memories of her short but near deadly encounter with them on the road north. She snapped out of it and looked over at Estel. His face was drawn in pain, his hands clenching the arms of his chair. The light seemed to have grown dim.  
  
Kathryn looked again to the hobbits. "There! Perhaps we know more of the pursuers than you do. You are frightened."  
  
Estel woke from his nightmares. "But you're not nearly frightened enough. We know what hunts you. Strider can take you by paths that are seldom trodden. Will you have him?"  
  
"Will you have me?" Kathryn asked.  
  
Frodo looked between the two, making no answer. Sam frowned, and looked down at his master, then at last broke out. "With your leave, Mr Frodo I'd say no to this Strider here. He warns and says take care and I say yes to that, and let's begin with him. He comes out of the Wild, and I never heard no good of such folk. He knows something, that's plain, and more than I like; but it's no reason why we should let him go leading us out into some dark place far from help, as he puts it. This lady here, she has already helped us, and says she knows the wild - why not take her, as we know she's trustworthy."  
  
The lady in question smiled, but then said persuasively. "I will admit, Frodo, that the bigger the company the better. I may be able to hold off perhaps three Black Riders with luck, but Strider with us too would be much safer. I used to know him."  
  
Pippin fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. Strider did not reply to either Sam or Kathryn, but a little thankful smile crept into the corner of his mouth. He looked with his keen eyes on Frodo. Frodo caught his glance and looked away. "Yes," he said slowly, "I agree with you Fleetfoot. I think, I think you, Strider, are not really as you choose to look. Still Sam seems right in this: I don't see why you should warn us to take care, and yet ask us to take you on trust. Why the disguise? Who are you? What do you really know about - about my business; and how do you know it."  
  
Both Rangers smiled grim smiles. "The lesson in caution has been well learnt." Said Strider.  
  
"But you could ask the same questions of me Frodo." Kathryn told him. "Caution is one thing and wavering is another. You will never get to Rivendell on your own. Even with me it will be a journey of greatest peril."  
  
"To trust is your only chance." Strider said. "You must make up your mind. I will answer some of your questions, if that will you to do so. But why should you believe my story if you don not trust me already? Still, here it is." 


End file.
